the War Machine
by philipherbertlegends
Summary: an American Soldiers life is changed forever when he discovers the War Machine Mark II armor in an Afghanistan basement... AU, with original characters.
1. Chapter 1

the War Machine

Lt. Lumbardo looked across the crate at in the embassy Basement.

"It looks like a coffin." Sgt Rielly said.

The Lt. ran his hand across the imprint on the front of the wooden box. "I dont think stark industries makes coffins." He said. "I wonder whats in this?"

"Only one way to find out." Rielly said, flipping out his gerber knife and prying at the corners. the wood squeaked as the nails pulled loose. It was an erie sound, there, in the embassy basement, with no one around to see or do anything about. Lumbardo's hands tightened around his M4 rifle, instintively.

Inside was a suit of armor.

It was broken down into individual components, and packed into soft foam. Each piece was colored dark grey or silver. Rielly picked up the packing list, and started to read aloud. "Stark Industries." He read. "War Machine Mark two. For military and law enforcement use only. Is this real?"

Lumbardo picked up the helmet and stared through the blank, black eyes. "I've never heard of anything like this." He said. "What do you think it does?"

Rielly chuckled. "Put it on, and give you superpowers." He said. "Like one of those stupid comics Specialist Buckets is always reading."

Lumbardo tugged on the chest piece. "Its heavy." He said.

"Its probably a joke, sir." He said. "Like something a contractor ordered, and forgot about before he shipped out."

"Isnt Stark industries a weapons manufactorer?" Lumbardo said.

"Yeah." Rielly said. "Like Boeing. But I seriously doubt they made this halloween costume. You ever see those pictures on the internet?"

"What like, nudes?"

"No sir. I mean, like those guys who go to comic cons. Comic conventions. They dress up in this sort of stuff. And it looks really cool and everything, but it doesnt actually do anything. I mean, no one thinks that it could, or whatever."

Lumbardo put the cover back on the crate. "Well, its not ours." He said. "And dont say anything to the men about it. Especially Buckets. He'll go apeshit over the whole thing, and try to fit this crap in his rucksack."

"Roger that, sir." Rielly replied. And the two soldiers found what they were originally looking for, an ammo crate to resupply the platoon. With that the went up the stairs, leaving the basement and turning off the light behind them.

It was not always hot in Afghanistan.

That was a common misperception. In the winters it snowed. In springtime it was mild. Afghanistan was a desert, but not a complete desert, that is, not a sandbox. It simply lacked adaquate rainfall. If the city of Kabul was transplanted out into Flagstaff, Arizona, it would seem much the same, at least for its external surroundings. It would miss the Hindu Kush, towering above the city, blue peaks and white snow caps sitting in judgement.

The actual city of Kabul lacks almost any anemity you can think of. There is no running water. Electricity is only provided by personal generator. Most of the houses in the city lack roofing, due to fifty years of constant war. Bombing by the Russians, bombing by the Americans. For the city it matters not at all.

The American Embassy squats behind a ten foot slick wall, topped with spools of razor wire. It is an ugly, concrete thing, with narrow windows that resemble and maximum security federal prison. The roof is covered with a tent of camouflage netting, to hide the glint of snipers perched on all four corners of the rooftop.

This was were Virginia Potts went to work, every day.

She lived in a trailer that had started life as a connex box, in a shipyard somewhere around America or the world. It had laminate flooring, two electric lightbulbs, a shower, a sink, a bed frame with a matress, a wall locker like a prisoner would use, and an air conditioning unit that hung in the window frame. There were flowers out front, near the sidewalk, planted by earlier state department workers trying to recapture a bit of home. There were also sandbags on the roof, in case one of the many mortars sent by the enemy made its way into the unit. But she tried not to think about that. So every day she showered, and put on one of her six Armani pantsuits, and one of her three remaining Gucci low heels, and walked from the trailer to the Embassy, where she met for one of endless meetings.

Which were almost, if not entirely, unproductive.

Afghanistan was in a state of war. Where it was not in a state of war, it was in a state of flux. The President, Hamid Karzai, controlled the city of Kabul that was the length and breadth of his domain. Every other province was controlled by a regional warlord. Some were loyal to Karzai, some were loyal to the Taliban. A great many were simply for sale to the highest bidder.

Virginia's job was to coordinate efforts with the many charities and NGO's (non government organizations) that wanted to take part in Kabul. Sometimes this was easy, with organizations such as the Red Crescent, the Arabic version of the red cross. But many of the NGO's represented shadier organizations. Already there had been suicide bombings in Iraq carried out by members of supposed charities. Then there was the trickier part- many of the Afghani's were hostile to any sort of support, or help, especially toward girls and women.

When she asked, she found out she was the only volunteer to this post. This did not help to unify her with the other state department staff. They were united by their disdain for Afghanistan, for the way it looked, for the way it smelled, for the danger. Ambassador Hogan told her one night, over drinks, "I'm going to Europe after this. Nice Europe, not eastern. And I'm never looking back."

"What about the people?" She asked. "Dont they want our help?"

He snorted. "Is that what you think this is? We build them a school, and they blow it up. They dont watch tv. They dont want anything we have. This project is hopeless. Were here because of nine eleven, and thats it."

"Is that what you think?"

"What do you think?"

"The women. The women need our help."

"Best thing we can do." He continued. "Is give the ones that want to go to someone better, a visa. But if we start doing that the ones that want to blow people up will get visas. This whole thing was doomed from the beginning.

After that Hogan had made a pass at her, which she politely but firmely rebuffed. he started babbling that his old frat brother had called him "happy" for some reason, that she didnt want to find out.

She never would have met Lumbardo, if not for the floor in the lobby.

The lobby was made up as the first line of defense by the soldiers. It had a clearing barrel next to the door, and a control center behind bulletproof glass, where Corporal Eynon checked the security cameras and radios of every man on post. The Afghani national was smiling at her, which set her on edge, just a little, due to the fact that he was missing most of his teeth. "America number one!" He exclaimed, and gave her a little thumbs up. At that moment, her feet slid out from under her, her papers flew up in the air, and she was airborne.

In the next she was caught, looking deep into Lumbardos eyes. Like black pools.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" He said.

"Uh huhn." She told him. "What happened?"

"The floor was wet."

It was the closest she had ever been to an actual soldier. She could see the camouflage pattern of his uniform up close, feel the weight of his assault rifle next to her side. His grip was strong, but gentle somehow. "You tripped." He added.

With that he picked her up, and moved her several feet away from the wet spot, putting her down gently nearby. She felt a twinge when he let go. As if she didnt want to be released from his grasp.

"Its not the way I'd want to get hurt, here in Afghanistan." He said.

"I dont want to get hurt at all." She laughed, awkwardly.

"Your papers!" The afghani said, while adding, "Lady number one!" The documents were sopping wet. She would have to run them through the printer again. "Thanks." She told him.

"You look like you need to sit down." Lumbardo said. "Do you want to sit down?"

"Sure." Virginia said. "Maybe I do."

They sat together at the picnic table behind the embassy. It was mostly used to smoke at, by the embassy staff, and Virginia pulled out a pack of slims. "Its a bad habit." She said. "I know, I'm sorry."

Lumbardo shrugged. "I dip Copenhagen." He said. "This isnt the place to stop your tobacco addiction."

"God," She said. "I know. I know thats true."

"We havent been properly introduced." He said. "I'm Will Lumbardo."

"Virginia Potts." She shook his hand. His gloves were off, and she took note of the abscence of any wedding ring. Or for that matter, a dark mark where a wedding ring would have been.

"So your a soldier here?"

"Yes ma'am. A lieutenant."

"Thats an officer? Or enlisted."

"Officer."

"I dont know that much about the Army."

"Well, you got it right."

"I'm in the government. I mean, state department. I should say state department, shouldnt I?"

"If thats who you work for."

"I just think about it as the government. I used to work for this terrible boss, and now that I dont work for him, I think about it as working for the government."

"Who was he?" Lumbardo asked.

"Some rich guy. And a total jackass. But that all crashed and burned a few years ago."

"Oh yeah?"

"His company was involved in some kind of ponzi scheme. It crashed and he got sent to jail. I mean, he deserved it, but I was put out of a job. So, I applied on USA Jobs, and here I am."

"Thats not that bad."

"You dont think so?"

"Well, I mean, and least your getting paid well. This is a tax free zone."

"Oh yeah!" She laughed. "I didnt think of it that way."

"And your probably making more money than me. I'm getting about $1500 a month."

"Ouch. Really?"

"Yeah."

"Why dont they pay you more?"

"I dont know. They dont pay soldiers well."

There was a moment, a real moment between them. When they paused and Lumbardo looked into her eyes, and Virginia grew shy, and a little happy, that this was really happening. Then an explosion went off, somewhere nearby in Kabul. Lumbardo strapped back on his helmet and told her he had to go. She sat there for a while longer. There was an oak tree over the picnic table, and a slight breeze that blew through it, making everything seem normal again. As if she could close her eyes and listen to the tree and be transported back home.


	2. Chapter 2

In Kuwait Specialist Robert Buckey had seen a Port-a-John with the following inscription, done up in black magic marker on the inside door:

I WISH I WAS

WHERE I WAS

WHEN I WISHED

I WAS HERE

At this time, hunched behind the barrier just inside the gate of the Kabul Embassy, he considered those words to be somewhere along the lines of an epic prophesy.

The Hesco barrier was a wire frame about four feet tall and three feet wide. It was filled with rock and sand, excavated during construction. It was supposed to be able to stop a bullet from an AK-47, or shrapnel from an explosion. Buckey supposed it did its job, given that his head was still on his shoulders. But the concussive wave had still knocked his over, and rattled his teeth. His thoughts turned to his rifle, just then. He felt its length against his body, summoned any ounce of courage he could stand, and shoved his head over the barrier.

The vehicle in question was maybe thirty yards from the farthest right corner of the American Embassy, on the road that ran out front of it. It was burning in hot, red flames, that looked like they belonged on the set of some action movie or another, possibly with Tom Cruise running away from them suddenly. Around it was scattered debris and rubble. People were crying out loudly, and Buckey wondered if they were dying. Someone slapped his shoulder, and Buckey jumped until he realized it was Sgt. Rielly.

"Sitrep, Buckets!" He said. "Talk to me."

"Looks like an VBIED, Sar'nt." Buckey said. "Down by the- the compound down there."

"Squad leaders!" Rielly said. "Head count. Ammo and men."

The report traveled across the radio headsets each man wore underneathe their helmets, and came back green for both. "So we avoided this one." Rielly murmured. Lumbardo came up front, and Rielly briefed him.

"Take first squad." Lumbardo said. "Secure the outer perimeter."

"You think thats a good idea, sir?" Rielly said. "Think maybe we need to wait for EOD."

"Theres not a lot of time here." Lumbardo said. "Thats the ISAF compound. And anything thats going to blow up, already did."

"Roger that." Rielly said, with a slight frown. It wasnt the decision he would have made, but he was a good NCO, and more importantly, a good soldier. He obeyed orders. "First squad, on me! Open the gate."

The front gate opened slightly, just enough to let a man through, and Rielly ducked through expertly. His M4 rifle was held at the ready, as he looked just over the sights. There was a calmness to him that he tried to pass off to his men. The kind of calmness that comes from three tours of Iraq, and existing in life and death situations over and over again. The next man through was Peters, and though he didnt come out with his weapon at the ready, he raised it when he saw Rielly's position. The huge Native American could lug around the M249 Light Machine Gun like no one else. The rest of the squad peeled out and took positions. Then the soldiers started to move down the street.

The ISAF compound held soldiers from various countries, Germany, Britain, and the like, that were allied with the Americans in fighting the Taliban. It was more lightely defended than the Embassy, with no hesco barriers or visible wall. Instead it held concrete slow down gates, and spools of Razor Wire, which had been enough to hold off the suicide vehicle from entering. Unfortunately, the damage was still done. Several ISAF soldiers were motionless, on the ground. One of them was missing his legs. There was an enourmous amount of blood on the ground, which looked shockingly red to Buckey. Then there were purple lengths of something which looked like instestines, curled incongrously around the length of Razor Wire, in ugly contrast to its silver.

"Medic up!" Rielly called out. "The rest of you, get your first aid and pressure bandages ready. Lets help who we can."

Buckey stood above the ISAF soldier missing his legs. He fumbled for the pressure bandage, that he kept taped to the buttstock of his weapon. It didnt want to come loose. The soldier was trying to say something. His lips were moving, at least, making little bubbles with the blood trapped in his throat. Self aid, buddy aid, Medic aid. That was what the Army taught. Apply pressure. He held the bandage down to the mans leg. Make a tourniquet. How did he do that?

Calvillo, the medic, shoved him to the side. "Take it easy, Buckets." He said. "Let me do my thing." Buckey stood back as the medic whipped out a plastic tourniquet from his pack, and applied it to the casualties legs. Buckey stood up. The adrenaline was wearing off. He felt wobbly all over his body. His vision was blurring. Lumbardo grabbed his soldier.

"Hey specialist." He said gently. "Why dont you provide security out front? So this compound doesnt get attacked again." Buckey heard himself saying yes, sir. And moving into position. He was staring down the street behind the sights of his M4. Everything seemed somehow more real than it should have been. There was sticky stuff on his hands and it took him a minute to realize it was blood.

Later that evening, Buckey was sitting in the embassy basement, going over the care package with Private Kujawski.

"This was sucks." Kujo said. "Its all DC." He tossed the package aside, spilling out the comic books in it. "Looks like someone just emptied out their dollar bins."

"You should read something other than X-Men, anyway." Buckey commented.

Buckey and Kujo had grown up together, gone to the same high school in Central Florida, and held many of the same interests. One of those interests, the main one, was comic books, which had branded the pair irreversibly as nerds. The other was the military. Buckey had taken the lead, joining the Junior ROTC in high school, the Delayed Entry Program after that, and finally enlisting in the Army when he turned eighteen. Kujo had done the same. Since they joined under the buddy program, they were promised to go to boot camp together, and be assigned to the same unit.

At infantry school, something had flipped in their roles. Kujo was naturally a better Soldier. Buckey was short and frail, with a tendency to fall out of forced marches. Kujo had a skill throughout high school , and as long as he could remember, to fit in, do exactly what he was told, and not make any waves. The army recognized that and rewarded him for it, while punishing Buckey for not being able to physically perform his duties. Kujo loved his M240B machine gun, and he was one of the best shots in the Company. Buckey could barely carry his M4 rifle. All Buckey talked about lately was getting out, going to college on the GI Bill, while Kujo had been recommended by Sgt. Rielly for Ranger school. "And you can make it in the Regiment." Rielly said. "They need good troops like you."

But here, both men were friends, and both men were boys, boys that loved Comics.

Buckey had come up with a scheme at the very beginning of Deployment. He had handwritten a form letter

Dear Sir:

I am a Soldier on the front lines of Afghanistan. Currently we have nothing to read on our off time. One of my buddies talks about your store all the time and I was wondering if you had any comic books that you cant sell or dont need. If you could send them to this address

(APO address in Afghanistan)

My buddies and I would thank you very much. God Bless America.

Sincerely Yours,

Sergeant Robert Buckey

The letter was almost completely fabrication. There was plenty to read at the US Embassy, since there was a small library stocked with the unwanted books of many other departing State Department personnel and Soldiers. Buckey wasnt a Sergeant. He didnt believe in God. Buckey mailed each letter to a comic store randomly found on Comic store locator dot com, and he sent more than a hundred of them out. It was a straight ploy on public sympathy to get free stuff. It worked very well. The rest of the men in Task Force Kabul cursed whenever a care package had a name on it like "Comics Kingdom" or "Dragons Lair". It meant no snack food or clean socks, just piles of comics. When the boxes started piling up in the trailers the platoon lived in, Buckey and Kujo moved their stash into the Embassy Basement. It was better there, cold and dark, with few people. In a way it reminded both the soldiers of a comics shop.

"Silver age." Buckey said, holding up a find from a care package, "Check it out."

Kujo took a look at it. "Its a funny animal book." He said. "Not superheroes."

"So?" Buckey undid a flap on his body armor vest. "I'll put it with the collection."

Kujo frowned. "Isnt that where your kevlar plate goes?"

"Its where my kevlar plate went." Buckey said. "Now its where I put the best comics."

"Are you sure thats a good idea?"

"Remember my Wolverine #1?" Buckey said. "The Frank Miller/ Claremont one? Someone stole that straight up from the barracks. I dont trust these guys as far as I can throw them."

"Which isnt very far."

"Well, yeah. Shit!"

The comic slipped its staples and the inner pages sailed free of the cover.

"That sucks." Kujo said.

"Its still worth something." Buckey told him, tossing around the boxes for the comic. "Its nineteen sixties."

And that was how he found the wooden crate, pushed to the rear of the basement, marked STARK INDUSTRIES.

In about fifteen minutes later, Buckey and Cujo had the entire suit laid out and realized what the problem was.

"It doesnt work." Kujo said.

"Its heavy as hell." Buckey told him.

"And I think its made for a taller person. Like, Lumbardo height."

"What are these instructions?" Buckey said. "Half of what they say has been redacted."

"Redacted?"

"Crossed out. Blanked."

"That sucks."

"But this is real." He sounded excited. "The pentagon has been working on something like this for years."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. I read about it online. A military exoskeleton. I didnt know they got this far. What I saw just looked like a picture of a guy with a big backpack on."

Kujo put on the War Machine helmet.

"You look awesome." Buckey said.

"I cant see a thing." Kujo told him. "And its stuffy. Its heavy and stuffy."

"Let me try it." Buckey said. But the helmet bore down hard enough on his temple to make it hurt. "This is some heavy duty stuff, here."

Kujo picked up the gloves, grunting under the weight. "Look at these things." He said. He pressed a panel, and a keypad appeared. There was a loud beep.

"Ha ha!"

"Dude?"

"I got it to work!"

Kujo fit his hand inside the War Machine gauntlet. The pistons inside positioned themselves for a comfortable fit. The little screen next to the wrist gun said

MANUAL OVERRIDE

There was an audible hum of energy coming from the gauntlet.

"It works!"


	3. Chapter 3

The next time Virginia met Lt. Lumbardo at the picnic table he looked different. His face was drawn, in a harrowed expression. She smiled when she sat down next to him.

"Rough day?" She asked.

"Yeah." He told her. "I guess you could say that."

"Was it the explosion?"

He nodded. "The ISAF compound."

"Was it bad?"

Lumbardo nodded. "One of my soldiers looked like he was going to puke. Just a kid. You know the average age of these guys?"

"Not really."

"Its twenty."

"Thats crazy."

"Twenty years old." Lumbardo shook his head. "I was in college when I was twenty. Trying my best not to study anything. Can you imagine?"

"I have a sister thats twenty." Virginia said. "She lives at home with my parents. I cant imagine her doing anything responsible."

"But thats the culture." Lumbardo said. "You can still figure stuff out when your twenty. Except here, its all in front of you."

"Life or death."

Lumbardo smiled. "I'm bumming you out, arent I?"

"Its okay."

"How was your day?"

"We had a meeting about the ISAF compound."

"How did that go?"

"We just talked about what we knew. Which is that an explosion went off. Which, I mean, is nothing we couldnt figure out, by, you know, just actually listening what happened right there."

They sat there for a moment, saying nothing.

"Pakistan has restaurants." Virginia said. "And you can eat out there. I wish Afghanistan had restaurants."

"You can get local food." Lumbardo said. "Just ask the nationals that work here. They'll bring you something back."

"I havent tried that."

"My soldiers do it all the time. Theyre not supposed to. But it happens."

Another moment of silence occurred. The wind whistled in the overhanging tree, as Virginia stubbed out her cigarette.

"Where are you from?" She asked.

"New Jersey." Lumbardo said. "Originally, I mean. I'm stationed in North Carolina."

"I'm from Connecticut." She said. "That's not too far, is it?"

"Were both New Englanders."

"Where would we meet, in real life?"

"A Giants game."

"I'm not really into sports."

"What do you like?"

"Theater."

"What, like, Glee?"

She laughed. "No. I mean, I go to New York, with friends, and see a show. A good one."

"Thats perfect." Lumbardo said. "Book of Mormon."

"You cant get tickets for that." Virginia said. "Its always sold out."

"But I show up in uniform."

"I dont know if that makes a difference."

"It doesnt, at the ticket booth." Lumbardo says. "But theres this socialite couple. Dressed to the nines. And the gentlemen served in World War Two. In fact, he was in the Normandy invasion. And he turns to his wife, and she smiles back at him, and he goes 'here son, thank you for serving our country' and gives me their tickets. And his wife smiles back at him and says, 'I felt like seeing a movie anyhow.' And meanwhile your there, with your friends, dismayed that its sold out, but you saw the entire thing, and I come right up to you with the ticket in my dress blues, and I say, 'would you like to see the show with me?' And thats how we meet."

The road from Kabul to Bagram was paved, but barely, and narrow. On either side the country opened up into desolation. With the mountains beyond. Always the mountains. Before them in certain patches stood mounds of rock, designating areas where the Soviets had employed land mines. In some parts the ground was littered with such mounds.

Lt. Lumbardo stayed alert as he rode in the passenger seat of the Humvee. Specialist Buckey was driving, with Kujawski up in the turret above. The kids face had lit up when he picked him for the mission. The Specialist needed the chance to get out, get away from the Embassy for a little while. And this was a good opprotunity. Once a week, a convoy of two Humvees left the Embassy to pick up supplies for the Soldiers at the airbase in Bagram. Mail, mostly, and care packages that made everyone happy. There was a PX in Bagram, and a Burger King. It was a needed break.

Lt. Lumbardo's hands flexed back on his M4. Despite the routine nature of the convoy, every few miles or so they passed an unofficial "checkpoint". These checkpoints were nothing more than an Afghani or two next to a shack, with an AK-47, sometimes with a barrier blocking the road. The men who manned them worked for local warlords, who held all power over their territory. Usually the warlords were funded by the sales of poppies, used to make heroin, or legal narcotics like morphine. The rules of engagement were simple. The Americans didnt stop for anything. And Lumbardo made a point of looking each man in the eye as they glared past. Each one was a potential enemy, in this war.

After the hour and a half drive, Lumbardo gave the soldiers two hours to wander around the airbase. "Fourteen hundred." He warned. "Be back with the convoy or your AWOL. Am I clear?"

"Hooah, sir." The specialists replied, and then scampered off, leaving their armored vests and helmets with the humvee. Lumbardo sighed, and then turned his attention back to the list the first sergeant had given him. He had to hit up the base exchange himself. And Sgt. Rielly had specifically asked for tator tots, if the Burger King even had those.

The soldiers perused the magazine rack at the PX forlornly.

"No comics." Buckey said, grimly.

Kujo picked up a copy of People weekly. "How about this?" He said. "Theyve got that Dazzler chick in here. She's pretty hot."

"I dont care about her." Buckey said. "Besides, you cant see anything."

Kujo snorted. "The mothers of America wont let the PX stock Playboy anymore." He said. "Concerned about our moral well being. We can kill people, but we cant look at a centerfold."

"They would take our cigarettes, too." Buckey said. "Only then we'd have to kill somebody."

Kujo thumbed through the magazines. "Here we go." He said. "Newsweeks talking about the mutant problem."

"Exactly." Buckey said. "Pop stars and mutants, thats what America needs to know about. Not some war in a desert shithole."

"I dont know, man." Kujo said. "I mean, what if they let mutants enlist?"

"I'd kill them." A deep voice said, from behind them.

Buckey turned, nervously. There was a tall contractor dressed in a tan vest that said PENDERGRASS across the front in a patch. On his black baseball cap was a white bullseye overlapping a crosshairs. His fingers were nervously drumming an assault rifle.

"Are there any nudie mags in there?" The merc said.

"No." Buckey told him.

"HEY!" The merc roared at the clerk, a frightened air force girl "WHERE's MY GODDAMN PORNO!" She jumped back visibly, into jars of protein powder that fell to the ground. the merc PENDERGRASS started to laugh, and Kujo forcibly grabbed Buckey's arm, pulling him out of the store.

"Who the hell was that?" Buckey asked.

A minute later, the merc emerged with arms full of cigarette cartons. "If you scare her." He said. "She'll let you have free stuff. The trick is, you really have to scare her." He stuck out a hand, "Sheldon Pendergrass."

Kujo shook it, reluctantly. The merc had sweaty palms. "Are you with Blackwater?" He asked.

"Bullseye Security Services, LLC." the merc said. "My own operation. Where are you two GI's stationed at?"

"The embassy." Buckey said.

"Almost got blown up last week!" Sheldon said. He took off the ball cap, and dabbed at his bald head underneath. "Heard it was real gory. Wish I could have seen it."

"Were you in the Army?" Kujo said.

"An Army of one!" Sheldon laughed again. There was an ugliness to the laugh, a hint of desperation, even. "No. I was a darts champion. The best darts thrower in hells kitchen. Things got a little hectic, and I thought, why not go overseas?" he tossed a carton of cigarettes at Buckey, and walked off, whistling. A few minutes later, the Air Force clerk came out.

"Is that your friend?" She asked.

"No." Kujo told her. "We dont know him."

"He robbed the store." She said. "I'm calling the MP's." She started to cry. "He stuck his gun right in my face, and robbed the store, and the two of you just walked out. God, why didnt you do anything?"

Buckey couldnt think of anything to say. The wind kicked up over the hesco barriers, blowing sand across his face, and stinging his eyes underneath the designer sunglasses.

The ambush happened almost too quickly for Lumbardo to react.

The IED was the first part, sending a tremendous crunch underneath the Humvee, and a spray of dirt into the air. The Vehicle tilted on its side, and then finally rolled over. barely remembering the drill, Lumbardo jerked around and snatched the front of Kujo's vest, pulling him inside the turret. It saved his life, and his head. The soldiers were tossed around in the cabin, until finally the vehicle came to rest on its side.

Buckey was the first to react. His mind was racing, wheres my rifle, where's my rifle...he leaned his head out the window. His rifle had been tossed free, and now lay twenty feet away from the Humvee. Close to the road. A bell was ringing in his head. He could see guys, the checkpoint aghanis, waving their AK's in his direction, and it took him a minute to realize that they were firing at him. They were firing at him. Next to him, Lt. Lumbardo was trying to get out the open Humvee hatch, but Kujo was in the way. Something was wrong with Kujo's leg. It was twisted in a funny direction. Were all gonna die, Buckey thought, and he was suprised by how calm that thought was to him. In that very instant, when he accepted his own imminent demise, he remembered the gauntlet he had brought with him in the Daypack, sitting right next to him near the center console.

And he put it on.

Buckey yanked open the door, and crawled through it vertically. The bullets were snapping past his head. Far bullets whirred, he remembered from training, but close ones snapped. He pointed the War Machine gauntlet in the general direction of the ambushers, and randomly pressed buttons. There was a noise like a generator charging. Then the palm of the gauntlet snapped open, and a blast of blue repulsor energy shot out, while atop the gauntlet both barrels on the minigun let out a deadly stream of fire. The recoil took Buckey completely by suprise, and his arm went wildly up, shoving him back, sending rounds into the clear blue Afghani sky.


	4. Chapter 4

the War Machine 4

Lt. Lumbardo reacted slower than he told himself he would in the situation. He was staring at the window, at a big crack running horizontal. He was remembering when he was a kid, for some reason, and he would lay on his right side in the bathtub. Half of the world would be muted and encased with warmth, and the other half would be clear, enabling him to listen to the sounds coming from the house. His mothers footsteps in the kitchen. The crack of his father opening up a fresh beer can. There was nothing that could be done. The Humvee had flipped over onto his right side, effectively blocking his door, and any way out. Kujo was moaning from the turret, and it looked like he'd broken his leg, pretty bad. The blaat blaat outside was the distinct echo of AK fire. This was an ambush, and it was the worst moment in that ambush, the time when they were all most likely to die. And then the kid Buckey popped open his door, and started to lay down suppresive fire.

Lumbardo managed to half shove, half push Kujo out the turret, and crawl through himself. It sounded like an unholy firefight, on the other side of the humvee. Exactly what the hell was Buckets firing? Then he focused on the wounded soldier in front of him. It was a compound fracture, no getting around it. The white bone was visibly sticking out just above Kujo's kneecap. Then an AK bullet snapped just above his head. He would have to focus on the enemy first. Otherwise they were all going to die, out here. His hands dove for his M4 carbine, and he realized it was missing in the explosion. He went for his secondary sidearm instead. "Stay here!" He shouted unnecesarily at Kujo.

When he leaned over the wheel well, to aim in at the enemy, it was already all over.

Scorch marks covered the sand by the road of the ambush site, where the Taliban had come from. He saw the second Humvee. The fuel tank had caught fire and it was burning brightly, billowing black smoke over orange flames. There must have been two IED's, he thought. Then he realized Buckey wasnt firing anymore.

With strength he didnt know he possessed Lumbardo climbed up the wheel well, to where Buckey was standing. Except he wasnt standing anymore. He was slumped over the side of the door. Lumbardo grabbed him and yanked him free, and the kid was suprisingly light, but efortless. He was still breathing, fast, shallow breaths. What the hell was that on his hand?

"Buckets!" Lumbardo scrambled for the first aid kit, on his body armor. "Stay with me, specialist!" The soldier was shot up bad. There were impact marks up and down his vest, proof that he had exposed himself to the enemy. The enemy he had killed. The worst of it was a gash on his neck, that looked ugly and deep, his mouth moved, as if he were trying to say something. And then his chest stopped moving.

Lumbardo performed CPR until his arms ran out of strength.

The ceremony was performed at the Embassy. The captain spoke about Buckey, mostly in broad terms that could have applied to any of the men. He spoke of the soldiers in the other Humvee. Three dead, and Buckets, which made four. Kujawski was being evac'd to Germany to have his leg operated on.

There was a sort of ceremonial stand the soldiers made, in which an M4 was placed in a wooden frame muzzle down, and a kevlar helmet hung atop that, with the Soldiers tan boots in front. The formation was called to attention and presented a salute for the fallen. All the while, Lumbardo felt ugliness in the pit of his heart. A deep emotion, something kin to fear and regret, that had no real name in the english language. When it was finished the stands were taken apart, and the Soldiers present went on to relieve posts at the Embassy. Sgt. Rielly found him and gripped him in a manly bear hug.

"Hey, sir." He said. "I went ahead and wrote the letter."

"The letter?" Lumbardo said.

"For Buckets."

Lumbardo nodded. This hit him, again. A letter he would have to send out, to Buckey's mother. And he had failed to do this duty, just as he had failed to keep Buckey alive.

"Given the circumstances." Rielly said. "I thought you were feeling kind of jacked up, you know? Might need to take a minute."

"I'm fine." Lumbardo said. "Good to go."

"The captain's putting Buckey in for the Medal." Rielly said. "And those paper pushers in the pentagon will probably bump it down, but still, that means an Army Cross, at least. You and Kujo are getting purple hearts and Infantry Combat Badges, of course. And probably something else."

"Thats good." Lumbardo said. "I mean, it doesnt change anything."

"Nothing changes anything, Lieutenant." Rielly said. "This is war. Ive been deployed five times, and I've seen all kinds of crazy stuff happen. You just have to push through when you can."

"All that stuff the captain said."

"Yeah?"

"I kept thinking. This is the kid that fell out of every hump. That could barely hold a SAW. I mean, do you remember when we were talking about who was going on deployment? We almost left him at home."

"I remember."

"And then he does all this. He saves my life. How wrong is that? He saves my life, and dies fighting haajis. Like one of those Medal of Honor Citations they read off in Boot Camp."

"Those Drill Sergeants might be talking about Specialist Buckey." Rielly said. "In the future." Rielly winked. "Someone's been asking about you." He said. "She's over by the picnic tables, in case your interested."

Virginia suprised Lumbardo with a hug of her own. It was the first physical contact between them, besides a handshake, and it sent a jolt of electricity that stirred him a little in his pants. Up close she smelled so good, so fresh. Like a woman. Her body was soft and pliable, next to his.

"I heard what happened." She said. "I was so scared."

"I'm fine." He said. "A few scratches, but I made it." Lumbardo notices she was blinking back tears, and he felt awkward.

"I'm sorry." Virginia said. "All this is a little overwhelming, sometimes, you know?"

"I'm okay."

"Just, the idea that, you could be talking to somebody, and, think you know them, think stuff is going to be okay, and then their gone. In that horrible way. I mean, what is this place, really?"

"Lets talk about something good." Lumbardo said.

"Like what?" Virginia asked.

"Seen any good movies?"

"Where would I see movies?"

"There's an Afghani that comes around once a week with DVD's. Totally bootleg, but still."

"Ah. Then no, I have not seen any movies lately."

"He was the same guy that was mopping the floor, when we met."

"So he's useful for more than tripping people up?"

"The guys name is Said." Lumbardo said. "And he has this whole long backstory with the Embassy. He stayed here after the Americans fled, back in the Seventies. Supposedly he was tortured by the Russians and the Taliban, one after another."

"The story we heard." Virginia said, "Is that after the Russians left, the Taliban didnt come near the Embassy. They thought it was haunted."

"Haunted?"

"That something was in the basement."

"Well, anyway, the movies.I have a whole stack of them." Lumbardo said. "And a laptop with a pretty big screen."

"And I've got a crappy little connex trailer." Virginia said. "And maybe a bottle of wine, to share?"

"Sounds like a date."

Virginia laughed, and blushed deeply.

Before he could get to her trailer there was normal business, of working on post, and then there was new business.

The normal business was putting on his body armor and helmet and taking over his position as watch commander. Second Platoon's Lt. Mcgovern had been filling in for him for the last few days, to allow him time to recover from the ordeal. The men welcomed him back eagerly, with a few faces in sorrow over the loss of Specialist Buckey. Someone had even drawn a sign on cardboard FORT BUCKETS over Post Two Alpha, that overlooked the main street running in front of the Embassy.

The normal business continued with Weapons Maintenance for the Platoon. An M4 Carbine had to be constantly cleaned, in order to ensure it did not fall prey to rust or carbon build up, which would prevent its use in battle. All the soldiers had this drilled into them since boot camp, through the Rifleman's creed:

I will keep my rifle clean and ready,

Even as I am clean and ready.

The new business consisted of filing the reports.

For officers in the United States Army, command was obsessed with two things; proper filing of paperwork, and the creation of Powerpoint presentations. Even here in the Embassy, where the mission was mostly a static, defensive one, the same was true. Command at Bagram wanted a thoroughly detailed report on every minute of the attack that Lumbardo was aware of. And he gave it to them, minus one important detail- the gauntlet Buckey had been wearing. The weapon that allowed him to singlehandedly mow down an entire horde of Taliban ambushers, and save Lumbardo and Kujo's lives in the process.

What was that weapon?

In the Embassy basement, Lumbardo recognized it, of course. It was a part of the armor set that Rielly had found underneath the ammo crates. The thing worked, apparently. It was entirely lethal. Lumbardo looked at the description on the packing list again

War Machine Mark II

For Military and Law Enforcement Use Only

And checked his watch. He still had half an hour until he was going to meet Virginia. Enough time to try out a crazy little experiment. Swiftly, he stripped down to his underwear. Grabbing the individual pieces of armor, he attached them to his body one after another, starting with the boots and working up the legs. The Armor was enourmously heavy until he put on the helmet. All of a sudden, and without any prior warning, red letters popped up

LOADING JARVIS

"Welcome sir." Said a foppish English voice, distorted through speakers. "Loading systems.

"Shit!" Lumbardo blurted out. The words were blurred through a synthesizer, to project out the front of his helmet. Suddenly the armor weighed nothing. He could flex his arms and move around freely. There was a hiss of cold air in his face. His vision burst from the helmets darkness into a high definition view of the basement, superimposed with what looked like a Heads-Up display, and a targeting reticle.

LIFE SUPPORT: ONLINE

WEAPONS SYSTEMS: ONLINE

FLIGHT SYSTEMS: ONLINE

COMMUNICATIONS SYSTEMS: ONLINE

ARC REACTOR POWER: 100%

"What the hell." He murmured.

Lumbardo walked around experimentally. The armor hissed and clanked under his footsteps. He raised one arm in front of him. The reticle on his HUD followed around the barrels at the ends of his gauntlet. On his shoulder Lumbardo could feel the minigun following as well. "This is insane." Lumbardo said. "What is this."

"This is the War Machine Mark two armor system." the English voice intoned.

"And what are you, Siri?"

"No sir. Siri is an Apple product. I am Jarvis."


	5. Chapter 5

All of this was getting to be too much for him. Lumbardo could tell that if he kept fooling around with the armor, it would take him all night. So as carefully as he put it all on, he took it off, piece by piece, and placed it in the packing crate. After a quick stop to his connex trailer, to ensure he was wearing his cleanest ACU uniform, his freshest shave, and just a hint of cologne, he wandered around the back of the embassy looking for Virginia Pott's trailer. It was a clear black night, and the moon was shining bright enough overhead to make out the pockmarked craters. He found her sitting on the front door of her connex trailer, smoking a cigarette and smiling at him. She was wearing a negligee bathrobe.

The movie turned out to be one of those dull romantic comedies squarely aimed at the female set, and entirely disinterested in Lumbardo's demographic. This turned out to be entirely beside the point, because less than a quarter way through Virginia turned to him with a passionate, open mouthed kiss, and revealed she had nothing on underneath the bathrobe. After they had made love, the movie stayed on with the volume turned down. As if the act of conversation would have been to much to handle, in silence.

"Who would play you?" Virginia asked. "In the movie."

"No one goes to see war movies." Lumbardo said.

"Are you kidding me? War movies win oscars."

"But no one goes to see them. I dont want to be in a movie that no one sees."

She shifted under the covers, revealing a perfect pair of breasts. "All right. What kind of movie would you want to be in?"

"It has to be directed by Scorcese."

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes. "A guy movie."

"Or Tarintino. Or someone good."

"I was trying to say." Virginia said. "That I've always wanted Gwneyth Paltrow to play me, in a movie."

"Ah." Lumbardo said. "I kind of got that, that you were trying to make a point."

"And you were messing it up."

"I'm sorry."

"So who would play you in a movie?"

"It would have to be someone italian. And he would have to be from New Jersey."

"So, the Sitaution."

"Are you kidding me? Jersey Shore?"

"He fits those specifications."

"In the first place, all those guys, they arent from Jersey. Theyre from New York."

"But its called Jersey Shore."

"I know that. Its false advertising. All those guys, theyre rich kids from New York that vacation in New Jersey. We call them Bennies."

"Bennies?"

"Yeah. Someone that acts like that is a Benny. I mean, there are a few people that might act like that, authentically from New Jersey, but the vast majority of Bennies are from New York."

"This is fascinating."

Four hours later he was back in the Embassy basement, suiting up in the War Machine armor faster than before. His pulse was racing in his neck, in anticapation of what he was about to do. Lumbardo walked nervously to the basement door and stepped out. Behind the Embassy building it was dark. All the state department staff had already gone to their trailers for the night. Still, he felt overly conspicous.

"Okay." He said. "Jarvis."

"Yes sir."

"You said this thing can fly?"

"Yes sir."

"Lets do that."

The repulsors under his feet lit up, and, with no warning, rocketed him into the air. He flailed around helplessly. It felt like a roller coaster ride, that started unexpectedly, and left Lumbardo sucking in his breath Looking under him the city of Kabul was mostly dark and solid. As if it could suck its way back into the Hindu Kush mountains beyond.

Lumbardo fell through the air. He yelped, and the repulsors kicked in, stabilizing his flight. "Hover!" He shouted. "Just let me hover, for a second!"

The repulsors in his boots roared to angry life, and he stood there, stock still.

"It takes some getting used to." Jarvis said.

"Yeah." Lumbardo said. "I get that."

And then it washed over him, all at once. "Holy shit." Lumbardo said. "I'm actually flying."

"Where would you like to go, sir?" Jarvis asked.

"Is there any activity?" Lumbardo asked. "Anyone that needs help?"

"What sort of help, sir?"

"Like soldiers calling for fire support. That kind of thing."

"Scanning military radio frequencies." Jarvis said. "Battle Company at FAB Restrepo has put in a call for fire request."

"Wheres that at?"

"The Korengal Valley, sir."

"Then lets move." The War Machine armor pivoted expertly, and blazed away into the night.

FAB Restrepo had been built in the dead of night by the Soldiers of Battle Company, tenth mountain Division. It was little more than a collection of Hesco barriers and razor wire. Outpost Korengal stood less than one click behind it. The Korengal Valley was marked by an enormous dip, and Restrepo stood in the middle of that dip. It was in the heart of terrorist country, a middle finger to the enemy.

The FAB was named after Specialist Juan Restrepo, one of the best liked men in the Company, who had died early in the deployment. He was twenty-one. The Soldiers had had little time to grieve. Every day there was serious fighting at Restrepo. Every day the Taliban tested their defences, with mortars or small arms fire. And tonight the attack came from everywhere.

The five soldiers in the FAB had burned through five hundred rounds on the 240 Golf machine gun already. Most of them were down to one or two magazines each. The Taliban were screaming, allah akbar, allah akbar, as they came down the mountain. Most of the time, in modern combat, a soldier could not tell if he was close enough to do real damage. Here it was different. Here the enemy died right in front of you, or shot an RPG close enough past you that it might be possible to put a hand out and grab it. They had called in fire support, but it was most likely too late.

War Machine blazed through the sky, and landed directly in front of the FAB.

The armor targeted multiple enemy combatants. It blazed to life, using all the weaponry at Lumbardo's disposal. First the chain gun mounted to his shoulder, tearing through flesh and bone like wet paper. Then the gauntlet mounted weaponly, added by repulsor blasts. Finally the missile silo on his left shoulder opened up, and multiple heat seaking rocket streaked out to chase the terrorists down. The mens lives ended in pyrotechnic displays of fire. Inside the HUD, Lumbardo could see the readout over and over again.

ENEMY COMBATANT: TERMINATED

ENEMY COMBATANT: TERMINATED

As quickly as all that, it was over. He turned around to the soldiers, hunched down behind their Hesco barriers, saluted, and blasted off into the night.

At which time he found himself at the business end of two F/18 fighters.

The fighters were engaging him, which was exhilirating, and also terrifying. He had learned to fly quickly enough. The suit worked by slight gestured of head and eyes inside the HUD, and also by voice commands with the Jarvis program. Flying had turned out to be an intuitive enough task.

The fighters tried using the guns first. That was easy enough to dodge. But he was hit by a stray round or two, and it hurt. Angered, he flew in close to an F/18 and punched it. White smoke came out of the hole his armored fist made, the aircraft lost altitude, and he saw the pilot eject.

My God, he thought. I've just taken down an F/18. Not bad for a dumb GI. An idea came to him.

"Jarvis!" He said. "Can you patch into different radio signals."

"I should be able to."

"Let me talk to that pilot."

There was a brief sound of static from the helmets speakers.

"Hey!" Lumbardo said. "F/18 pilot! This is the guy in the flying suit! Dont shoot me."

The radio crackled. "Sparrow one to Eagle, I have communication with the Bogey."

"This is lieutenant Will Lumbardo." Lumbardo said. "Tenth Mountain, US Army."

The radio went silent for a minute. Finally it said. "Sparrow one, escort the bogey to Bagram air station."

"Thats better." Lumbardo said.

"And if that is you, liuetenant." the radio said, "You better have a damn good reason why you just wrecked a forty million dollar aircraft."

Lumbardo gulped, and tried to fly the War Machine in what he hoped was as non-threatening a manner as possible.

At Bagram there was what looked like a platoon of men with assault rifles pointed at him, as he landed. He raised his hands, in the universal gesture for surrender, and popped open his faceplate.

"Put down your weapons!" A voice called out.

"Thats going to be tricky." Lumbardo said. "Their attached to the armor."

A bald-headed figure with an eyepatch strode forward. On his ACU uniform stood the insignia of a Full-Bird Colonel. His nametape said. FURY. "I'll handle this." Fury said. "Take off the armor. Right now."

Lumbardo stripped it off piece by piece underneath the floodlights, at which point he was flex-cuffed by a pair of MP's waiting for him, in his skivvies.

"Bring him with me." Fury said.

After at indeterminate amount of time, where Lumbardo sat in a chair in an empty room with his hands flex-cuffed behind his back, Fury strode in. He sat in the identical chair across from him, took a cigar from the inside pocket of his jacket. He bit the end off and lit it with a match, in one fluid motion.

"Now." He said. "I presume you have a good story to tell me?"

Lumbardo did, starting with the moment when they had made the discovery of the armor in the basement, and leaving nothing out.

Fury scratched his head.

"The way I see this." He said. "Could go down one of two ways."

"Yes, sir." Lumbardo said.

"You could be court-martialed for deserting your post at the Embassy." Fury said. "And for the destruction of a forty million dollar aircraft."

"Or." Fury said. "You ever hear of Osama's revenge?"

"No sir."

"Thats what they call it here when you get the runs." Fury said. "Dysentery. Its a common enough affliction. Happened to me my first week here. Our Western bodies have a hard time handling the air in these third-world countries. Are you following?"

"Yes sir."

"Which option would you like?"

"The second one, sir."

Fury took out a combat knife, and cut the flexcuffs holding his wrists together. "There you have it, Lieutenant." He said. "What happened tonight was you got Osama's revenge. You got sick, disoriented. And like a dumb-ass you wandered out past the gate, for some reason, puking up your guts. Thats why nobody could find you tonight, at the Embassy."

"Yes sir."

"You never saw any alleged, highly classified weapons system, that for some reason might have been sitting in a basement. You never put that weapons system on for a test drive. And you most certainly didnt punch an F/18 out of the sky."

"Yes sir."

"Get up. Were going to find you a uniform before you get out of here."

"Colonel Fury, I've got a question."

"Go ahead."

"What happen in Korengal? At Restrepo."

Fury turned around, and the barest amount of a smile cracked over his face. "You stopped a frontal assault." He said. "Killed over thirty-five enemy combatants. Most likely saved the lives of every soldier in the compound."


End file.
